


popsicle stains

by dreamtowns



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Multi-Era, Reincarnation, Soulmates AU, Symbolism, Time Skips, alternative universe, some things aren’t grammatically correct (ie: no capitalization) for symbolic purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: kenma and shouyou, no matter the universe: always, always.





	popsicle stains

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Haikyuu!! No copyright intended. It belongs to its’ mangaka: Furudate Haruichi. This is purely for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made off of this content. 
> 
> I haven’t posted anything HQ!! related in, like, TWO YEARS. So. Here it is! just something random that I thought of while watching a baking competition on TV. I changed my tumblr, too. I was @sleepykenmas, then @sleepydekus, but now I am @dreamvevo!
> 
> this isn’t really a playlist but while i wrote this, i listened to all these years by camilla cabello the entire time.  
> Before y’all @ me, some things aren’t capitalized or grammatically correct for a reason.

a camera shutters, clicks, and a photo spits out of it a second later. a giggle, a fond sigh, and it’s placed inside a box; haphazardly thrown atop a dozen others in a box. it isn’t a selfie, unlike the other photos, but, instead, it’s of the blond, eyes fixed elsewhere. the sun a halo. silence reigns for a moment, contemplative, comfortable, before a backdrop of noise swells and encroaches. they tense.

“are you ready?” he asks.

fingers entwine.

“always,” the other replies.

he raises the camera. _click, click_. _shutter-snap._ the photo spits out again. a smile. the noise grows, nearly deafening, and then: a blinding light.

 

 

In this life, Kenma wakes up as a merchant. The ache of Shouyou’s absence leaves him lethargic and sullen, to the point where his crew, a band of trustworthy and loyal ex-pirates (apparently, Kenma saved them from a life in prison one day, and they decided to repay their debt to him by keeping him company – and buying him a ship), are more attentive, dripping with concern.

“I think he’s ill,” suggests Yaku, uncaring that Kenma is within hearing distance. He ignores their huddle and focuses on nursing his drink. “He does get a lot quieter when he’s sick.”

“Oh, he’s _sick_ , alright,” grins Kuroo and, when there are enough eyes on him, he adds: “Lovesick, obviously.”

“Love is just a chemical reaction,” mutters Inuoka.

“Every emotion is a chemical reaction,” Kuroo rebuffs. “Stop being so… _you_.”

Inuoka sputters, but eyes are now trained on Kenma’s sulking physique. He continues to ignore them, leaning against the wall despite how the wooden rails hurt his back. He sighs a little, mind drifting to Shouyou’s exuberance, wondering where the redhead could be in this universe. There’s no magic in the air, so perhaps he’s in a town? Or, maybe, he’s a pirate?

Kenma snorts at the thought of Shouyou being a pirate.

“See?” Kuroo says, gesturing to, well, all of Kenma. “That’s lovesickness!”

Lev looks intrigued. “I didn’t know Kenma had a lover!”

“Think this properly,” Yaku says with an eyeroll, before the rest of the crew can dissolve into a tizzy. “We’re literally with Kenma twenty-four seven, _where_ would he find the time to be in a relationship with someone else? Without us knowing?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“They’re star-crossed lovers,” Wataru breathes out.

Yaku throws his hands into the air.

“Leave me alone,” Kenma tells them, a mutinous glare that makes Inuoka and Lev squeak in terror. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

“Not really,” says Kuroo, though Kenma is quite certain _someone_ is supposed to be directing their ship. Ugh, he has a headache. “We’re still a day or two away from Suga’s port.”

Kenma blinks. “From what?”

Yaku tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. “Sugawara’s port? You know, the place you wanted to go to, to sell some of your wares before winter?”

Kenma hums.

When he stands to go to his room, he ignores their concerned stares. There was a lot about this world he can’t remember, but Kenma was nothing if not meticulous. He kept a series of journals that chronologically detailed his journey, all the way to the first day he embarked on his little merchant ship that got trashed a few years ago in a storm.

Locking himself in his “office”, that he’s pretty sure is supposed to belong to Kuroo as the older man is the original captain of the ragtag crew, Kenma blocks out the rest of the world in favor of his journal entries. As he reads, the memories slowly come back to his mind. He always had a little trouble remembering the past of his present life, and he finds himself wondering.

_does shouyou remember him?_

Something inside his lungs threatens to pierce his breath at the thought of Shouyou not remembering him. It’s happened before, to the both of them. Something about balance ( _excitement,_ the boy remarks, lips twisting into something foul, and kenma, tired and grieving, hands stained with shouyou’s blood, nearly breaks his neck if not for the firm grip iwaizumi has on his waist; the witch only laughs). Kenma breathes around the hole in his chest.

 _He remembers me,_ Kenma tells himself, and then buries himself in lands and seas he has travelled to, in all the people he has met that weren’t Shouyou.

(he doesn’t like to think about the lives he’s lived when shouyou did not remember him or vice versa. they never ended well.)

They reach the port that belongs to Sugawara Koushi near evening on the next day, but instead of staying in his room, Kenma’s dragged off the ship and pulled towards a pub filled with drunk pirates and other merchants. _Karasu_ , is the name, and Kenma almost (almost) laughs aloud. Inside, the pub is comfortable and familiar, dressed in warm browns and greens. Working at the bar is Yachi Hitoka, Shimizu Kiyoko, and Akaashi Keiji.

“Evening,” Akaashi greets, and then flashes them a kind smile. “What can I get you today? Your usual orders?”

“Yes, please,” Yaku groans as he settles on the barstool. Hovering near him is Lev, who pouts in an exaggerated manner. Yaku ignores him.

Kenma’s lips twitch.

No matter the universe, there are some things (people) that will never change.

 

 

They stay at Sugawara’s port for a few days, and Kenma makes a dent in his wares that makes him relieved. There’s no sign of Shouyou, but Kenma isn’t as afraid as he was a few days ago. The time for them to meet will happen when it should, whether Shouyou remembers him or not.

“You seem a lot better,” Sugawara comments a few minutes before he’s meant to board his ship. The rest of the crew are already on, including Goshiki Tsutomu; a runaway who wanted to explore the world and begged Kenma to have him be apart of his crew to the point where Kenma agreed so he wouldn’t bother him further. “You know, you can always talk to me if there’s something bothering you.”

Kenma almost smiles. “Thanks, Koushi…but I’m fine.”

Sugawara hums, and then clasps his shoulder. “Alright, then. Tell Daichi hi for me, when you see him.”

“Will do,” Kenma murmurs.

They’re heading to Seijou next, a southeastern kingdom of a thriving culture, and Kenma is partly excited, partly terrified. They had never ventured to Seijou before as they were having some problems with taxes, but their regular informant (which happened to be _Yamaguchi_ ) told them that it was okay to sell their wares there without getting taxed and distorted until they were drowned in debt.

Sawamura Daichi owned a bakery in Seijou, and since they don’t see each other except for a few times a year, Sugawara gives him a bundle of letters for the man. “Keep them safe, okay?” Sugawara tells him, eyes twinkling. “Daichi likes it when I write to him.”

Before he walks onto his ship, Kenma double-checks that the letters are safely encased in his knapsack. Satisfied, he walks on and lets Kuroo know that they’re ready to embark. Sugawara, Shimizu, and Yachi wave their goodbyes from the pier with enthusiasm, Yachi and Sugawara yelling their wishes for safe travel. Kenma watches them until they are merely a small blob in the distance. Sunlight glitters against the sea.

“It’ll take a week to get to Seijou, Mr. Kozume,” Goshiki tells him.

“Kenma,” he tells the other. “Call me Kenma.”

Goshiki makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Hey, Goshiki,” calls Lev from the other end of the ship. “What’s your story? Why’d you decide to runaway?”

Yaku smacks his shoulder. “Lev, not everyone likes to spill their hearts’ story!”

Lev pouts. “Yaku, you’re so mean to me!”

Goshiki laughs under his breath, but his gaze is a little distant. Kenma doesn’t want to get into – whatever it is that Goshiki is running away from. “I, ah, just wanted to see what was out there, you know? My – my home is, well, small.”

Lev makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat.

“Well,” Inuoka pats Goshiki’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”

Goshiki smiles.

When they reach Seijou’s soil, Kenma can feel it in his bones. A gospel echoed in his bones. _Shouyou. Shouyou. Shouyou._

“Is Kenma okay?” Goshiki asks Kuroo, who seems to be the most familiar with Kenma, hesitant and concerned.

Kenma shifts, his equivalent of bouncing on his toes, as another flow of patrons drift in his direction. He chatters, pleasant and friendly, with those who question him on his wares, but, otherwise, he’s distracted. Gaze searching for that familiar flash of bright red, burning hair. _Shouyou. Shouyou._

“He’s lovesick,” Kuroo echoes his earlier sentiments.

Yaku rolls his eyes.

They stay in Seijou until Kenma’s almost completely reduced the size of his products. The night evening before they’re set to leave, Kenma pulls on a light jacket. “I’m going out,” he tells the rest of the crew, who’re lazing about on the dock.

“Go where?” Kuroo asks with a head tilt and narrowed eyes. A grin dances on his lips. “Going to see your lover?”

“Choke,” Kenma says without preamble, and leaves his ship amidst Kuroo’s cackle.

Contrary to popular belief, Seijou’s streets are full of life during the night. Kenma purchases whatever he finds interesting enough to resell at another port, nearly filling up his satchel, and simply drifts with the crowd. He wants to stay another day, feels the need itch underneath his skin, but he knows that Daichi would probably kill him if he didn’t leave before sunrise tomorrow since he had a package to deliver back to Sugawara.

He walks by a pair of older men, dressed in Seijou’s royal colors of blue, silver, and white (guards to the royal family, probably, he thinks), and his ears prickle at their conversation.

“—gods, can you believe what’s happened?”

“So, it’s true? He’s gone?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s going insane, trying to find him before he, like, gets kidnapped or something.”

“Shit. And he’s small, too, so…”

Kenma chews on his bottom lip and makes his way back to his ship. His skin prickles the closer he gets to the docks, and when he climbs back onto his ship there’s – chaos. His crew is surrounding a figure on the ground, a storm of questions spewed out of their mouths until Kenma walks up to them and pushes Lev out of the way. Lev protests the action (something about Kenma being _tiny_ , or whatever, but Kenma ignores the dig at his height less he jabs Lev’s side), but Kenma isn’t listening.

Red fills his vision.

_Red. Red. Red._

His heart stops. “Shouyou.”

Golden eyes peer up at him. A smile, blinding, like the sun.

“ _Kenma!”_

 

“So,” Shouyou smiles when they’re alone, hidden in Kenma’s office. They aren’t truly alone as Kenma would’ve liked, considering they both hear the shuffling footsteps and hissed whispers outside his closed door, but Kenma ignores his crew like always. “You’re, like, a pirate now?”

“Ex-pirate,” Kenma corrects absentmindedly. In his earlier years, Kenma was (shockingly) a pirate, but then he decided to become a merchant so that he didn’t die young. “Now, I’m just…a merchant.”

“Cool,” says Shouyou.

He’s perched atop Kenma’s desk, swinging his legs. Kenma stares at him and squints his eyes at the fine clothing Shouyou wears. Although he dressed in a plain shirt and khaki pants, his feet bare, Kenma can tell the difference between the clothes a commoner wears and the clothes someone of noble blood does. His sigh is loud.

“Really, Shouyou?” he says, crossing his arms, and almost smiles at the sheepish look on Shouyou’s face. “Now…why would the crown prince of Seijou _run away?”_

Shouyou swallows, opening his mouth, but then the door to his office bursts open, and half the crew spill inside. “You’re the _prince of Seijou?”_ cries Inuoka.

“I knew it,” Kuroo says, pointing at the two of them. _“Star-crossed lovers!”_

“Please shut up about that,” says Yaku.

Privately, Kenma agrees, but he focuses a level stare on Shouyou. The redhead shifts.

“Shouyou.”

“Um. Well.” Shouyou begins, biting his bottom lip, and then he sighs. “Look, I don’t _want_ to be a prince, ok? There are a lot more – better people in line for the throne, and everyone knows it.”

Kenma frowns. “Regardless, you’re still the heir apparent to the throne, Shouyou. You can’t just…hop on a ship and leave like that. What if this wasn’t my ship?”

What he wants to say is this: _what if I didn’t remember you?_

Shouyou’s pout becomes pronounced. “I know, I know.”

Kenma sighs. “You’re not gonna go home, are you?”

“Nope,” he smiles.

Kenma sighs again before he glowers at those in his office. “Get out of my room.”

“But _Kenma,”_ whines Lev, “you can’t just – not tell us how you know Prince Shouyou!”

Shouyou winces. “P-Please, just call me Shouyou.”

“Yeah, how’d you meet shrimpy?” Kuroo questions as he leans against the wall, eyebrow quirked.

Kenma twitches and turns to Shouyou. “This is your fault.”

Shouyou laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful thing Kenma has ever heard.

 

 

 

 

 

in one life, their marriage is arranged before they are born. the first-born sons, to tie two warring kingdoms into an era of prosperity and peace. there are many photos of that time. photos of themselves in their kingly apparel, crowns perched atop their heads; glistening. 

it ends with their old age, and they sit with one another, giggling over the memories. kenma raises the camera this time, and captures shouyou mid laugh, the crown tilted in his curls.

 _shutter, click_.

 

 

“There’s someone asking for you.”

Shouyou looks up, forehead beaded with sweat, and blows a raspberry. “Who?” he asks Tsukishima, his taciturn and very, very stubborn familiar. Whenever Shouyou creates the potions and elixirs they need, Tsukishima mans the front of the house. Then, seeing the scowl on Tsukishima’s lips, tilts his head. “What’s with the face, Tsukki?”

His scowl deepens. “Don’t call me that.”

“Is it Runa?” Shouyou ignores him. “Thought she and Yacchan would be coming by on Tuesday.” He stirs counterclockwise three times and checks the date on the calendar smudged into a corner. It’s Friday and, also, a full moon. Shouyou clucks his tongue, and the potion slowly becomes a silvery blue. He adds in the frog legs at that moment. “So, is it—?”

“It’s not Kuribayashi or Yachi,” Tsukishima tells him.

Shouyou waits, stirs.

“It’s someone named – Kenma?”

Shouyou almost stops stirring, but the next turn is botchy. Tsukishima notices and quirks an eyebrow at the reaction.

“I take it, this is someone important?” Tsukishima asks quietly. “Or should I tell him to leave unless I rip out his throat?”

Shouyou snorts under his breath. Tsukishima rarely showed his protective streak, but when he did, he was a ruthless protector. “Nah, Kenma’s ok,” he chirps after he grasps his bearings, before he abandons his _four-hour_ potion in favor of crashing down the hall and straight into Kenma’s arms like he wanted to. “This potions’ got, like, thirty minutes left, so you can let him upstairs.”

Tsukishima blinks. “You want to _let him in your apartment?”_

“I trust Kenma,” Shouyou defends, stirring counter clockwise. He drops the crystalized tears of a widow in the liquid seven seconds after he completes his stirs. “Honestly, he’s harmle—.”

“He’s a _werewolf,”_ comes the bristled hiss. _“It’s a full moon!”_

Shouyou blinks. “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh,_ ” snarks his familiar. if Tsukishima were in his cat form, his hackles would be raised. Claws out at the threat to his territory. “I always knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you had such little brain cells that you would—.”

“Kei.”

Tsukishima closes his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Shouyou soothes with a bright smile. “Kenma won’t hurt me, okay? Just let him upstairs…give him, I dunno, some water. I’ll be there soon, alright?”

Tsukishima hums, but he leaves to fulfill Shouyou’s command. Distantly, Shouyou listens to Tsukishima’s gait accompanied by softer, light footsteps against his floorboards. Water runs from his kitchen, and there’s the tell-tale clink of silverware. Shouyou finishes the rest of the potion in record time with little mishaps and bottles it in a star-shaped container. It’s for Oikawa, one of his steadfast and loyal customers, and Shouyou knows how space-obsessed the other is.

Once he’s finished cleaning up his work space (a dirty cauldron is a housefire waiting to occur), Shouyou unties his apron and haphazardly throws it on the hook next to the door, too focused on rushing out to lock up the rest of the shop. As he closes the apothecary for the day, Matsukawa gives him a cheerful wave from across the street, closing his own little bakery.

Shouyou barely remembers to wave back, preoccupied with other things as he is. Once everything is secured and in place for the next work day, Shouyou bolts upstairs to his apartment that he shares with his two familiars: Tsukishima and—

 _“Are you insane?”_ Kuguri Naoyasu nearly screeches once Shouyou climbs up the last flight of stairs. _“Do you know who’s in our living room? On a full moon?”_

Shouyou winces at the volume, but nods. “It’s Kenma!”

“No, it’s a _WEREWOLF_ ON A _FULL FUCKING MOON!_ ”

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to be so loud, Naoyasu! He can hear you, you know?”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Kuguri responds promptly, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s he doing here, Sho?” then, lower; dangerous: “Is he threatening you?”

Shouyou can’t help it. He bursts into laughter at the mere thought of Kenma posing a threat to his wellbeing, werewolf or otherwise. Even in their past lives, when Kenma was, quite possibly, the most dangerous being in existence, he would never deliberately place Shouyou into harms way.

Kuguri’s expression is intense. “This is not a laughing matter, Shouyou.”

Shouyou clears his throat. “Listen. I wouldn’t put you and Tsukki in harms way, okay? if I thought Kenma was, was a danger to you or to me, regardless of the moon, he wouldn’t be here.” He stares into Kuguri’s gaze, firm and resolute. “He’s safe, okay?”

The pause is long.

“Fine,” Kuguri spits out, mulish and disapproving. “But this doesn’t mean I trust him, got it?”

Shouyou beams.

When he enters his apartment, the tension is palpable. Tsukishima licks his paws, perched on the top of one of the armchairs, eyes fixed on the figure on the couch. Kenma sits on the sofa stiffly, his posture nearly so straight it’s uncomfortable to look at, a hand curled around the mug of tea in his hands. If it weren’t the full moon, Shouyou would’ve tackled him to the floor already.

Kenma looks at him once he skids into the living room from his excitement, and Shouyou’s both delighted and intrigued to see his eyes darken.

“Kenma,” Shouyou chirps, a little breathless at the sight of him. It’s been a good 120 years since they’ve last seen each other (witches lived a very, very long life). “I hope you’ve traveled safely.”

Kenma tilts his head. “Shouyou.”

That’s all he says.

Under his breath, Kuguri mutters, “What kind of reunion is this?”

Tsukishima makes a noise that would’ve been a snort, if he weren’t currently a cat.

Knowledgeable of how – unagreeable werewolves can become under the weight of a full moon, Shouyou sits on the armchair next to the sofa. For a moment, the tension in his apartment is nearly unbearable, and then he sighs.

_This is ridiculous._

“Kenma,” Shouyou says, his voice startingly loud, “Not that I’m not happy to see you here, but it _is_ a full moon tonight. Wouldn’t you rather be with your pack? I’m told things can be very uncomfortable for wolves to be away from their pack—.”

Kenma’s eyes flash, and Shouyou swallows. They stare at one another, a heated pause in between them, and then the metaphorical lightbulb clicks.

“Oh,” Shouyou says, eyes wide. _“Oh.”_

“What?” Kuguri bursts out. “What are you _‘oh’_ -ing about?”

“They’re a pack,” Tsukishima explains briskly, no longer a cat, and Kuguri gapes at the knowledge. With shrewd eyes, Tsukishima stares at Kenma. “Is that right, Kozume? You and Hinata – you’re a pack, that’s why you’re here?”

Kenma nods, gaze still fixed on Shouyou’s wide eyes, and that’s the end of the conversation. No one would dare separate a wolf from his pack.

Kenma stays.

Oikawa comes for his potion the next morning and is predictably curious over the new member in Shouyou’s life. Kenma settles into his life as if he had always been there (he has, technically, even if they hadn’t met in this decade); a seamless fissure Shouyou can’t imagine living without. He discovers, by pure coincidence, that he had been buying things that he knew Kenma loved long before Kenma stepped foot inside of his apothecary, like the blue tea towels or the tiny cat sculptures or the watercolor portraits littered across the walls.

Kenma always had a presence in Shouyou’s life, even if he wasn’t physically there.

“Oh, who’s this?” Oikawa questions, blatantly staring at Kenma, who’s placing premade potions on the shelves at the other end of the shop. “Another familiar?”

“He’s a werewolf,” says Shouyou, and giggles at Oikawa’s goggled stare. “We’re pack.”

Oikawa makes a noise in the back of his mind. “Chibi-chan, there’s so much about you that I don’t know! It isn’t fair!”

Shouyou smiles. “Sorry, Oikawa-san – was that everything you needed?”

Oikawa nods, and picks up his basket. “Thank you, Chibi-chan! I don’t know what I would do without you!”

Shouyou rolls his eyes, and teases, “Probably have to rely on Ushijima-san for your potions, elixirs, and the like.”

Oikawa’s scrunched up nose is his only response, and Shouyou laughs.

He closes the shop early, an hour or two after Oikawa leaves, and makes his way upstairs. Kuguri and Tsukishima are curled around one another in their cat forms on the couch, but Kenma’s nowhere to be seen. He greets his familiars by petting them for a couple minutes before he grabs the sketchbook on the coffee table and makes his way to his bedroom.

A blondish-colored wolf lounges on his bed, and blinks lazy eyes in his direction as he crawls onto his bed. Kenma lays his head on Shouyou’s stomach once he stills long enough, and Shouyou smiles, curling his fingers through Kenma’s scruff. He curls around Kenma’s warmth and sighs, content.

“Shop got too much for you?” Shouyou murmurs.

Kenma grumbles.

Shouyou drifts in and out of slumber, Kenma’s warmth a comfortable presence that makes him feel safe and protected. His days rinse and repeat, but Kenma is always there; steady, steady, steady.

 

 

 

 

kenma’s favorite photo is simple. an eternal depiction of their first life spent together, when they were young and reckless, the epitome of first loves. shouyou sleeps at his side, curled up by his shoulder; the moon casts a glow across the bridge of his nose. kenma gently cards his fingers through his hair as he sleeps, and stares down at the picture.

it’s old; the curled edges and small splots of white mark its’ age. there are other stains, popsicle flavored. drops of red and purple. from nights spent on the beach, bokuto’s voice an echo as he told stories that terrified kunimi. the day they first met.

_hey, want a popsicle? you’re looking a little lonely out here away from the others – oh! i’m hinata shouyou!_

_kozume kenma – and, sure. what flavor?_

_grape! and it’s nice to meet you, kenma!_

he angles the camera, capturing the drool on shouyou’s chin. the noise hums in the distance. slivers of light encroach. shutter, click.

shutter, click.

 

 

 

 

Kenma is crowned the youngest king in history of his country. His kingdom is peaceful, and small, and he spends his days quietly. Calmly. And then, during a council meeting, Futamata smiles. Kenma does not like the smile on his advisors’ face. “There is want for a ball, Your Majesty.”

He blinks, slow and lethargic. “A ball?”

“Yes,” Futamata nods. “Particularly, a ball for your future spouse.”

Kenma stares. “What.”

Futamata’s smile grows. “Our people wish to see you happy. To them, that means you are, of course, in need of a spouse. An equal.”

Kenma’s stomach twists into knots, but he isn’t sure why. Nerves, most likely. He had never been with anyone in a romantic sense, overprotective as the kingdom guards and his family were over him. He wasn’t sure he would be a good spouse, either. Too quiet, and introspective, Kenma preferred to live his days in the royal gardens, curled on a bench with the stray cats that liked to lounge the rows despite exasperated guards chasing them off.

“Don’t fret, your Majesty,” Futamata says, patting his shoulder. “We will take care of the preparations, unless you have specific requests for the ball?”

“No,” says Kenma, almost instantly. He wants nothing to do with this.  “I trust in your decisions.”

The castle is thrown into a flurry of preparations. There are times where Kenma wishes he had put his foot down and said _no_ , to the prospect of a ball, but then he sees how happy and excited everyone is once the event grows closer, and knows he would’ve regretted such a decision.

“The goal, Your Majesty,” Sugawara tells him as he straightens the lapels of Kenma’s suit, “is to, hopefully, find someone you wouldn’t mind courting.”

“I don’t need a Queen right now,” Kenma half-grumbles.

Sugawara pats his cheek. “No one’s said anything about a Queen, Majesty.” When Kenma stiffens, Sugawara continues, “You may court, and marry, whomever you wish. Should your spouse be King-consort, well – there _are_ many willing surrogates and the like to carry the next heir to the kingdom, but, well, we’ll think of those options when we get to that bridge.”

Kenma releases the breath he hadn’t known he held. While he had never discussed where his fancies lay, he hadn’t bothered to hide it. His kingdom preached acceptance and tolerance for all, a creed Kenma had been taught from his father’s knee, and a teaching he knew he would follow ardently. Still, though, there would always be the expectation that he wed a noble-blood, sophisticated woman. Inwardly, he grimaced at the mere thought.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sugawara laughs. “Most importantly, have fun, Your Majesty.”

Kenma hums, and then glances at the clock. The numbers blink two minutes until seven, when the ball is set to begin. He leaves his chambers with Sugawara and follows the other through the twisting paths to the main ballroom, where the event was being held. A spectacular event, Futamata had told him, open to majority of the public.

Kenma spots the captain of the Crownsguard and inwardly sighs at the headache that forms. Their security systems are going to be used extensively throughout the event. Kenma isn’t so naïve that he thinks no one would try and end the Kozume line during a time of festivity and laughter. He sends Ukai Keishin a sympathetic smile and receives a bow in return.

“Announcing His Royal Majesty, King Kozume Kenma,” Takeda announces to the hushed ballroom, and Kenma gathers himself just in time for the ballroom doors to open.

The speech that he gives is short and succinct, but his kingdom is used to his taciturn behavior from years of exposure. He makes his rounds to other political members in the kingdom as well as the few friends he recognizes, and makes polite, small talk that deals with a lot of lords and ladies attempting to sweettalk him into courting one of their children.

Kenma isn’t sure if he wants to marry a “blueblood”, as is the popular term, regardless of expectations. Kenma defies a lot of expectations, one of them not being the stereotypical king stories dictate he should be. He isn’t chivalrous, and he’s sometimes so quiet his councilmembers forget he’s in the room, and he would prefer to play a game on his console than deal with paperwork on the state of the kingdoms’ taxes.

Then, the music swells into something distinctly _not_ background music. It’s upbeat, and Kenma can only feel something similar to dread when he sees people flock towards the dancefloor and notices expectant, hopeful gazes.

“Time to put those dancing shoes on,” Kuroo tells him right before he sweeps Kenma into one of the kingdom’s various dances.

The time to switch partners comes with the crescendo of the music, and Kenma’s swept into another pair of arms. “Good evening, Majesty,” his newest dance partner greets softly, and Kenma’s breath is caught in his throat at the sight of bright, bright red hair. The boy is smaller than him, thin and lithe but with a build that showed he was athletic. Perhaps, he played some sort of sport?

“G-Good evening,” Kenma replies, a beat too late, scrambling to remember the manners and etiquette drilled into him when the boy twirls him in time with the music. “I – what is your name?”

“Call me Shouyou,” the boy says. There is something unfathomable in his eyes, something that makes Kenma want to lose himself in those burning golden irises. “Your Majesty.”

“Kenma,” he says, not even a second later, and then clarifies, cheeks burning, “Call me Kenma. Please.”

Shouyou’s grin softens. “As you wish.”

They end up chatting a bit more as they dance, and when Kenma changes partners to an exuberant, but nervous lords’ son, Tanaka Ryuu, Kenma sort of wishes he could’ve stayed dancing with Shouyou. When he grows tired of dancing (and, also, socializing with everyone who wants to be the next king or queen or _whatever_ ), he murmurs to Kuroo that he’s going to slip out for some air.

Kuroo presses a hand to the earpiece snug against his ear. “Alright,” he says in a low voice. “We’ve got eyes everywhere in the outside garden. But, if there’s trouble, you know what to do, Majesty.”

Kenma gives a curt nod and then manages to slip away before anyone notices he isn’t in the ballroom. It’s dark outside, a good three hours after sunset, and Kenma makes his way to one of the pretty gazebos and plops down on the benches, unbothered. He sighs in content at the silence surrounding him. While he doesn’t mind socialite events such as these, he still needs moments to himself.

Then, he blinks and stares into dark, golden eyes across him. “Ah,” he says after a moment, and rises. “I apologize, Shouyou. I didn’t mean to intrude –,”

“You can stay, it’s alright,” Shouyou tells him quietly. He looks almost ethereal underneath the moonlight, dressed a suit that not only accents his features but his figure. He looks more put together than Kenma has in his entire life. “The ball is amazing, Your M – Kenma,” and Shouyou’s eyes twinkle underneath the moonlight, “and so was your dancing, might I add.”

Kenma’s face heats, and the air between them grows with tension. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

Shouyou smiles, and it feels a little like coming home.

(they end up spending the rest of the ball in that gazebo, and Kenma almost burns when Sugawara comes to fetch them both with a knowing smile on his lips.

“I’m afraid it’s time for His Majesty to retire,” Sugawara says once their laughter simmers to quiet giggles. Kenma is _giggling_. “And it is time for all guests to leave.”

Kenma almost asks Shouyou to stay, if he were not aware of the overwhelming scandal that would cause.)

“The ball was a success, Majesty,” Futamata tells him the next morning over a bagel. “The whole kingdom is still buzzing about it.”

Kenma waits until he’s gone through half his breakfast to say, “I think I met someone I would like to court.”

A hush sweeps over the dining hall, and Kenma blinks at the way Futamata gapes. Yaku recovers the quickest and clears his throat. “And who is it, Majesty?”

Kenma thinks of a bright laugh and even brighter hair.

“Hinata Shouyou.”

 

 

 

 

a ripped photo hesitantly taped back together; shoved at the bottom of the box. it details a life neither of them want to think of, a decade of pain and grief. there is only one photo of that life, and kenma hates the tears stains that cloud the picture. that life is the reason why shouyou presses close to him during storms, fingers clutches the echoes of old injuries, old scars; trembling, trembling, trembling.

the incoming noise is a blessing, but kenma curls around shouyou protectively when the light comes for them. “love you,” he murmurs against the crown of shouyou’s head. the response is lost in the ensuing _shutter, click, click._

rewind.

 

 

 

 

Shouyou stares into slit eyes. The eyes stare back. “Kenma,” he calls to the boy in the bathroom. “Why is there a cat on my textbook?”

It’s his biology textbook, which he needs for his night class. Cell Biology. Not for the last time, Shouyou wants to kill whoever made him decide to major in science. _Biomedical_ science, to be specific. He wanted to become a physical therapist and trainer for athletes, ever since Nishinoya sprained his leg to the point he can’t play any type of sport without risking permanent injury.

“Oh, that’s Mori,” Kenma responds over the sounds of running water.

Shouyou blinks at the cat. Mori returns the action.

“Right,” he says, drawing out the syllables, and rocks back on the heels of his feet. “Well. I’m going to my night class, so, uh, I’ll see you later?”

“Okay.”

Halfway across campus, Shouyou realizes he’s left his textbook and curses aloud. Bypassing him, Yachi gives him a startled look and asks, “You okay, Shouyou?”

“I forgot my textbook,” he grumbles.

Yachi pats his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure your professor won’t be too mad.”

“It’s Ukai’s class,” says Shouyou.

“Oh.” Yachi blinks, and then says, “I will attend your funeral.”

Shouyou sputters. “Yacchan!”

She laughs. “Ukai-sensei is going to kill you.”

He fixes the straps of his bookbag and nods, solemn. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good luck,” she tells him right before she bounces off into another direction, for her Children in Literature night class she shares with Yamaguchi and Kuribayashi. Shouyou stares after her silhouette in mournful longing, wishing he were a lit major instead of a biomedical major.

Predictably, Ukai placed fear inside of him throughout the class; lambasting him for leaving his textbook at home throughout the entirety of the lecture. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who forgot it, so Kindaichi and a few others suffered alongside him.

“He’s such an ass,” Kindaichi mutters once they’re free, an hour and a half later. Shouyou hums, shivering as a cold wind sweeps over them. “Anyway, what’re you and Kenma doing tonight? Some of us are gonna head down to Oikawa’s place.”

Shouyou involuntarily wrinkles his nose. The last time he went to Oikawa’s place, he ended up with someone throwing up on his shoes. It wasn’t a happy experience for anyone involved. “It’s date night,” he chirps instead. “So I’ll have to do a raincheck.”

“Ugh,” says Kindaichi. “Fine. Go do gross couple-y things that you gross couples like to do.”

Shouyou rolls his eyes and pushes Kindaichi. “I’m telling Akira-chan!”

“Don’t you dare,” Kindaichi sputters.

“Tell me what?” says Kunimi as he appears at Kindaichi’s elbow, two coffee cups snug in his hands. “Also, I got your coffee, Yuutarou.”

Kindaichi screams, and Shouyou laughs.

 “A-Akira! Stop _scaring me like that!”_

“Wow,” says Kunimi, blank faced, “I didn’t know my boyfriend was such a baby.”

Kindaichi sputters again.

Shouyou snorts and waves once he reaches his dorm hall. “I’ll see you two later!”

There’s a few people in the lounge when he gets to the third floor, and he spends a moment chatting with them and making jokes. Shouyou makes it a point to get to know those he lives with, because it’s always nice to see a few faces around campus or in a new class. Once he’s had enough of talking, though, he slips inside of his room quickly, so that Mori won’t be able to slip out (and no one will be able to _see him_ ).

Mori seems to have claimed his cell biology textbook, so Shouyou decides to ignore that and smothers Kenma’s face in small kisses that makes him do that adorable snort-giggle.

“Shouyou,” Kenma says, a barely-there pout on his lips, and looks down at his handheld game. “I’m playing a _game._ ”

“It’s date night,” Shouyou reminds him, though Kenma already knows, “so what’s on the agenda? Are we staying in?”

“Yeah,” Kenma murmurs. “I’m not really in the mood for people.”

“Fine with me,” Shouyou says, and then snuggles against Kenma’s side. Their height difference isn’t much, but it’s enough to where cuddling isn’t uncomfortable, but just right (regardless of how cheesy that sounds).

Kenma shifts a little before he rests his head against Shouyou’s, right as he does the killing blow against the boss of the level. A cutscene begins, and Shouyou’s attention is split between the game and between how adorable Kenma looks when mesmerized by a plotline.

Mori remains on his textbook, but Shouyou can’t find it in himself to care.

“Do you ever think about where we’ll end up next?”

Kenma pauses the game. “In – in our next life?”

Shouyou nods. It isn’t something they really talk about, their past _or_ their present lives. Sometimes, it’s easier to remain focused on the present.

“Not really,” Kenma mutters after a moment of thought. “I don’t really care, as long as _you’re_ there.”

Shouyou’s face warms, and he presses his lips against Kenma’s cheek. It’s soft and warm against his lips. “Aw, _Kenma!”_

“S-Shouyou!” Kenma actually pouts. “My _game.”_

Shouyou snickers, but relaxes once more. This life was like a breath of fresh air. They were childhood neighbors in a sleepy, little farming town before they moved into the city for college; always a step behind one another. Their town has placed bets on when they’ll get married, and Shouyou knows that their parents have their money down on graduation day.

“Kenma, let’s get married.”

“We’re already married.”

“In _other_ lives, yeah,” Shouyou counters, but, privately, he agrees. “Not in this one.”

“Hmm.” Kenma kills a few more villains in the game (Heartless, Shouyou thinks they’re called), the main character slashing around some sort of key.  “Okay.”

“Let’s make a post,” Shouyou says, though he doesn’t move towards his cell. “I wanna give everyone back home a heart attack.”

Kenma snorts. “And you say _I’m_ dramatic?”

“You are!”

Kenma smiles, soft and quaint, but still a sight that makes Shouyou breathless. “Whatever you say, Shouyou.”

Still, Kenma doesn’t complain when Shouyou entwines their fingers, a silvery band wrapped around his ring finger, and snaps a photo. He only snorts when, three minutes later, both their phones erupt in phone calls and texts once Shouyou uploads the picture onto Instagram with a simple caption of: _always._

They’ll deal with it in the morning.

 

 

 

out of breath. a red sports jersey. _what’s your name?_ a shifty gaze. catlike, quiet. _kozume…kozume kenma._ soft smiles. nostalgia. _i’m hinata shouyou!_ a pause. sneakers squeak on polished floors. calls for another set. screaming, laughing. winning, losing. a cat and a crow. rivals. pictures of them mid-flight, invisible wings stretching across the room.

_one day, i’m gonna make you say you’re having fun, playing volleyball! just watch, kenma!_

_i look forward to it. shouyou._

shutter, click.

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is open to interpretation! but if you didn't realize, the end is when we're in current canon!verse i.e., the events of HQ!! as we know it!
> 
> Also! In case I was too vague with my descriptions, the scenes w the camera and photos, Hinata and Kenma are in this like “room” that has a bed, dresser, etc., and it’s sort of like where they end up when they’ve died. so, it’s like a symbol of their afterlife.
> 
> let me know what you think!


End file.
